A taut thriller based on the tragedy, which remains the most lethal mass killing in New Zealand history.

Without any preachiness, this magically beautiful film urges us to take better care of the bees, and honor the irreplaceable things that they do for us.

Only an actress as caution-to-the-wind as Colman could connect so profoundly with a patio chair. Skarsgard’s sensitivity also helps.

Does a first-rate job of remembering.

Late August, Early September is less a living, breathing movie than a dry exercise in theory. [07 Jul 1999, p.048]

The Chinese pleaser Electric Shadows belongs to a genre they don't teach in film school: Triple S, as in sweet, sappy and sentimental.

The surreal images lack narration and talking heads, which is no problem. In fact, the device makes the shocking footage more compelling.

Superb Noo Yawk attitude, dialogue and performances (including one from the essential Kevin Corrigan, now well into his second decade of being indie movies' dirtbag on demand) keep the movie lively and tart.

The first flick had a lot going for it: clever cinematography, a refreshing irreverence and Paul Rudd’s boyish charm. But “Wasp” is scant, man.

Ricardo Della Rosa's sumptuous, wide-screen cinematography takes full advantage of the sandy vista, complementing beautiful acting by Montenegro and Torres.

Sparse of dialogue and plot (think Andrei Tarkovsky), the import - named best first film at Cannes 2005 - has to do with Sri Lanka's unending civil war and it's devastating effect on residents of a barren no man's land.

So deftly does Turn Me On, Dammit! approximate the experience of small-town teenagerhood that occasionally its slowness can frustrate.

Deeply mediocre and ultra-predictable.

In disturbing detail, we see these aimless kids, who often appear to be 10 years old - or younger! - as they beg for money and food, sniff glue, sleep under bridges in cardboard boxes and fight off predators.

It's not much fun to watch people go to raves. And it's even less fun to listen to people talk about how much fun it is to go to raves.

Despite its shock value, Thirteen rises above dysfunctional-family-drama cliches, thanks to the truthfulness of its script and the keen eye of a sympathetic director.

Refreshingly flirts with a very un-Disney political incorrectness.

Succinct yet detailed storytelling, evocative cinematography (by Ellen Kuras) and arresting central performances add up to a trio of engaging character portraits.

Disney's best comedy in years.

It manages to be both kinetic and dream-like at the same time -- "Run Lola Run" by way of David Lynch.

Frustratingly superficial.

Ultimately, Sleep Tight makes a sounder case for nocturnal Webcams than the "Paranormal Activity" franchise ever could.

An intense but fairly brief battle scene near the start reminds us of the unique horrors of this war. But the hokey music played over it hints that the film is going to try too hard to touch us. And it soon does.

Weisberg is nonjudgmental, allowing his subjects to deliver the message that, for far too many people, the American dream is more of a nightmare.

Unless you are offended by a little female nudity, The Silence Before Bach will shock you not. But it will provide gorgeous lensing and art direction and some of the world's most beautiful music.

An example of style over substance. There's lots of slo-mo and jittery hand-held camera work, and references to the French New Wave (especially François Truffaut), but little depth.

At its best, the film just sits back and lets the weird times roll.

Spanish master filmmaker Pedro Almodóvar offers up a grisly Halloween trick-and-treat in his first full-out horror movie, an eye-popping and genuinely shocking gender-bending twist on Alfred Hitchcock's "Vertigo.''

Curse of the Golden Flower could also be called "Curse of 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.' " In other words, it is yet another attempt to cash in on the success of Ang Lee's 2000 martial-arts epic, which will go down in the history books as one of the most overrated films of the decade.

Features crisp dialogue and understated humor, played out by an attractive young cast. Audiences bred on Hollywood romances might find the film too chatty and contemplative. To them I say: Get over it, kids!

For those willing to lock into Reygadas’ mad wavelength, the beauty is worth the puzzlement.

The exhilarating documentary Sunshine Superman, which melds gorgeous aerial photography of Boenish’s jumps with sublime musical cues, finds in Boenish a kind of poet-adventurer, equal parts pixie and desperado.

Enlightening.

A gentle comedy, brimming with hope and faith in human resilience.

Van Sant's audacious, poetic and emotionally distanced film doesn't even have a plot. It's just a random series of incidents one day at a suburban high school.

Watching it is like being the only non-stoned person in the room as someone tells a long, long story.

Chiara Mastroianni, whose mom, Catherine Deneuve, starred in Demy's "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" (1964), appears here as Julie's sister. Vive la New Wave.

Tackling serious issues with humor and understanding, the film portrays Mona's woes as a microcosm of the entire mess in the Middle East.

Only in the heartfelt closing minutes does the film cut any deeper than a tired episode of a sitcom about children of immigrants complaining about their hopelessly old-fashioned parents.

Puts a face on the clerical sex scandals rocking the Roman Catholic Church.

A feast of great acting, although in the final analysis it's a filmed stage play rather than a brilliant movie.

The firefights and chase scenes, no matter how much they adhere to genre, seem more real than the people trapped in the corruption.

Familiar though it is, the skillfully made movie finds vigor in the been-there-done-that.

The last time Guillermo del Toro directed a movie, 2017’s The Shape of Water, he won the Best Picture Oscar. His latest, Nightmare Alley, probably won’t, but it is nonetheless a far more entertaining and satisfying film than its overrated science-fiction predecessor.

Hugely entertaining because director Lasse Hallstrom and screenwriter William Wheeler have greatly embellished the "truth" in Irving's book about the hoax.

Paine doesn't hide his liberal mind-set, but he lets all sides - from GM suits to Ralph Nader - have their say. By the closing credits, there's little doubt who killed the electric car.

They take a mundane story and give it emotional resonance.

Veteran stage, screen and TV actor Moshe Ivgi gives a sturdy performance as Moshe, a supposed tough guy who sobs when confronted by bank robbers.

Spanish director Achero Manas' El Bola shows how the boys' bond leads to salvation of a sort for the needy Pellet. He does so with great sensitivity, never sinking into exploitation.

The faint of heart might want to leave early. If you elect to stay, remember: You were warned.

Purists will probably have a conniption at the mere idea of messing with the form, but the worst thing about Jacquot's post-modern treatment is that its incongruity wrenches you out of the story.

This modest little film out of Africa suffers from largely rudderless direction, relying for any sense of profundity on the breathtaking beauty of Abraham Haile Biru's cinematography.

Butler's film still manages to accomplish what the candidate's foundering campaign has utterly failed to do.

There are no talking heads, but lots of singing heads and sexy dancing bodies, many of them belonging to stars in Spain. In total, there are more than a dozen performance pieces, all stylishly lensed.

This wispy story is distinguished by its sweetness of spirit, and it comes straight from Kold.

Jeffrey Schwarz’s documentary is a fine, touching tribute to John Waters’ larger-than-life drag diva, Divine.

If you can handle the glacial pacing and lack of dialogue, there is a certain squirmy satisfaction to watching this well-worn story of love, cruelty and madness play out minus the long-winded speeches and romantic catharsis.

Moves along briskly, with several laugh-out-loud moments.

Stunningly photographed, largely with a hand-held camera, by Rodrigo Prieto (another member of the "Amores Perros" team) on gritty locations in Memphis and Albuquerque, 21 Grams is also a visual tour de force - and a rare Hollywood product depicting class differences with any kind of honesty.

As they’re akin to spectators at a magic show, viewers ought to keep an eye out for what the Merchants of Doubt don’t want us to see.

Smith’s appeal, just, holds together a thin plot upon which Bennett, who wrote the script, and director Nicholas Hytner have loaded gimmicks.

In the last 20 minutes, the film moves as breathlessly as a Hollywood thriller -- only it's much more frightening, because it's true.

Quiet, sober and tense, the movie makes some interesting points -- contrasting the frenzied hookups of the two men with the butcher's rote, dismal lovemaking with his wife as their bodies are carefully hidden under sheets -- but it lacks the emotional firepower of "Brokeback Mountain."

Queen To Play is ultimately about people's capacity for emotional and intellectual growth at any age.

Caramel, by the way, gets its name from a blend of sugar, lemon juice and water that is boiled until it turns into a paste used to remove unwanted hair in the Middle East.

Director-writer Jang Jun-hwan starts things off with a bang and never looks back, pushing up the excitement periodically.

As the movie drags on, though, it takes on a throbbing, sick monotone. This isn't a concert, it's a bass guitar solo, all thumping blackness.

Its personal, newsmagazine touch will make your heart ache for its cross-section of humanity.

Kaling’s script addresses issues such as sexism in the #MeToo era, ageism and racial prejudice in her disarmingly light and sneaky way.

The effect is informative and moving, even if the film has an attack of the gooeys at the end.

What Yankovic and director and co-writer Eric Appel have done, brilliantly in spots, is parody Yankovic’s own life while sending up the whole biopic genre. In a messed-up way, the maneuver is kinda poetic. And so very funny.

Filmed on abstract sets, it’s full of playful touches, such as lines delivered in front of a screen that looks like a comic-strip panel, and glimpses of a mole puppet popping out from a fake lawn.

An animated feature that revels in its low-tech wackiness.

Cool though the skirmishes are, director Gina Prince-Bythewood’s film could use some more visual panache, given the unique historical backgrounds of her characters. The look, by and large, is rudimentary action flick. Still, it’s good fun and has more than a few winning one-liners.

Lets both sides sound off without offering a spin of its own. [12 Jan 2005, p.70]

While I have no argument with Leeson's political views, her presentation -- mostly a succession of talking heads -- is dry and uninspired. These women deserve better.

Arriving two days before the 10th anniversary of 9/11, Steven Soderbergh's Contagion is a serious all-star thriller about the rapid worldwide spread of a killer virus that's easily the scariest of the disaster films that have followed the attack.

Amusing without being particularly biting.

Well-acted and nicely photographed, and has good action sequences, even if the screenplay (by M'Bala, Jean-Marie Adiaffi and Bertin Akaffou) is simplistic and there are slow stretches.

German director Werner Herzog's fascinating, fond and often bitchy documentary recalling the late star of his most celebrated movies.

Clarkson, the reigning queen of the indies, is simultaneously funny and heartbreaking, following up killer performances in "The Station Agent" and "All the Real Girls."

A determinedly raunchy holiday comedy about a libidinous, larcenous and perpetually soused St. Nick with a nonstop potty mouth.

Doesn't have as much behind-the-scenes juice as you'd hope.

For rock fans, hearing many Led Zeppelin and U2 classics on a theater sound system is worth the price of a ticket.

Color Out of Space is full-bore, glorious B-movie Cage: Cranked up to 11, spattered with gore and bellowing about alpacas.

District B13 looks great, but don't let those subtitles fool you. At heart, it's every bit as proudly dumb as its American counterparts.

Is nothing sacred? In the schizophrenic war epic The War lords, Jet Li, the hunky action hero, cries -- no, make that sobs -- several times. What will his legion of young male fans think?

A lavish biopic that gives Li one of his juiciest roles but is relatively light on the action his fans have come to expect.

Directed with great sensitivity by Norway’s Joachim Trier, the film is superbly, subtly acted.

Maybe the Midwest isn't actually like this, but if it were, would that be so bad?

The Japanese whalers are clearly in violation of international law, but no government is willing to take action. That leaves it up to ragtag groups such as the Sea Shepherds to do their best to shut down the whalers. The planet owes them a big "thank you."

The well-known story beats are also given renewed vitality by the young actors, whom director Christopher Zalla expertly steers away from being typical overemoting movie kids.

Paints an entertaining picture of the cherubic gentleman, who as the first curator of contemporary art at the Metropolitan Museum of Art brought new excitement to the stodgy institution.

Mumblecore founding father Joe Swanberg is back with this amiable off-season tale of Chicago millennials and their dissatisfactions. It offers his characteristic you-are-there visuals, rackety sound and meandering dialogue, often with appealing results.

The result is, alas, competent but unexceptional.

This material cries out for big-budget treatment by a real master like Paul Thomas Anderson or Martin Scorsese.

The indie film is funny and, at times, heartbreaking. Wisely, it avoids the happy ending that Hollywood would have insisted upon.

There's not enough here to justify the almost two hours.